Why Not Me?
by incendiary-wit
Summary: Roger loses his faith in love anyone else sensing a pattern here? and Mark helps him get it back. Starts angsty, ends fluffy. MarkRoger...duh.


Title: Why Not Me?

Pairing: Mark/Roger

Rating: PG-13 for swearing, and slashy kissing…allusions to sex.

Summary: When Roger loses his faith in love, will Mark be able to make the skeptic believe?

"Mimi and I broke up," Roger announced over cereal and tea one morning.

Mark choked on his Cap't Crunch, "What? When?"

"Yesterday," Roger said with no feeling whatsoever in his voice.

Mark stared at his friend for a few moments, "And…you're just telling me now because?"

"Because I'm numb."

"Numb?"

Roger took another bite of his cereal and swallowed before answering, "Yeah. This whole love thing is utter crap. If Mimi and I couldn't work out, how can anything ever work?"

Mark put down his spoon, "What happened?"

Roger sighed and ran a hand through his short blond hair, "I fell out of love with her. I figured that, after everything we'd been through, maybe this could work out. After April," Roger's voice broke and he took a pause to compose himself, "I loved Mimi…for a long while and then it just…stopped…died. There's no one else to love who's worth it."

When asked later, Mark could never explain why he said what he said next, "Why not me?"

Roger's spoon stopped midway to his mouth and clattered to the table, "What?"

Mark's words seemed to flow out without any input from his brain, which was screaming at him to shut the fuck up. "Why can't you fall in love with me? I'm in love with you."

Roger just looked straight into his roommate's eyes, memorizing the exact color and how the blue in Mark's eyes was so much softer than his own. Finally, after a long moment, Roger hesitatingly said, "Kiss me."

This time, Mark was the one startled, "What?"

Roger stood and walked halfway to his roommate, "Kiss me."

Mark stood, but stayed by his chair, "Are you sure? I don't want you to-"

"Mark, shut the fuck up and just kiss me!" Roger yelled.

"Why? So you can fall out of love with me? So you can break my heart because you're too fucked up to know when you've got a good thing going?" Mark yelled back.

"So I can remind myself what love is!" Roger screamed. After a moment of glaring, he spoke again, quietly this time. "You've always been there through all the shit I've gone through. You put up with all the shit I give you and yet…you're still here. When April died, it was you who took away the smack and stopped every suicide attempt I made. You came into my room and held me after every single fucking nightmare I had. You sang all my favorite songs until I calmed down enough. You held me steady when coming down was so bad that I shook. You helped me through my withdrawal, letting me use you as an outlet for my anger, grief, and misery. You just stood there and let me kick the hell out of you, knowing I needed to get everything out."

Mark looked at the ground and slowly pulled the sleeve up on his old, light blue t-shirt, exposing a long, thin scar normally hidden by his clothing.

Roger gasped and walked over to Mark, tracing his index finger over the marred skin, "That was the-"

"The night you tried to slit your wrists with the scissors," Mark filled in.

"And you came in right before I could do it, you tried to take them away," Roger continued.

"And in the scuffle, you-"

"I hurt you. I...oh god, Mark!" Roger dropped straight to the floor and lay there, crying and shaking.

Mark went to his knees and embraced Roger's quivering body, whispering words of comfort.

Roger suddenly pulled away, "Why are you being like this?" He crawled across the floor to the corner and shook as he spoke, "You should hate me for everything I've done. Why don't you hate me? You should hate me, I deserve it. I fucking deserve it."

Mark moved to Roger and gathered his best friend into his arms, "I can't hate you. You're my best friend, you're my…everything. I love you. My god, Roger. I love you."

"You shouldn't love me. You should hate me, I deserve it. I fuck everything up. I'm no good at all. I deserve hate, I deserve it."

"No!" Mark yelled, "Stop saying that!" He turned Roger's face so they could look eye-to-eye. "You have to understand. Yes, you screwed up. You did fuck up royally, but I still love you because that's what love is. Love is forgiving. I don't care about what happened years ago when you were in withdrawal. I care about now. I care about how you make tea every morning, even though you never drink it. You buy me film when I run out."

"Mark," Roger whispered, looking down. "Mark. I…fuck…I love you. God, I love you. I'm scared. Mark, help me, I'm scared."

"Shh, I'm here, baby. I'm here. I'll help you, I'm here," Mark gently stroked Roger's hair.

Roger looked up into Mark's eyes and murmured, "Please, Mark. Tell me you love me."

"I love you, Roger Davis. I love you so much. You've been my world for so long. I need you," then Mark leaned down and kissed Roger.

The kiss gained passion as they pressed their bodies together.

"I need you too," Roger whispered.

The two men looked at each other and then stood and went to the bedroom.

The next morning began a lifetime of love that Roger never doubted again.


End file.
